


When the meaning doesn't matter

by Anri_Kohaku



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance, Weird Dirty Talk Implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 05:34:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13381239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anri_Kohaku/pseuds/Anri_Kohaku
Summary: One of them does not speak Spanish.





	When the meaning doesn't matter

The beginning of the day for Carlos is strange. And so it is for everyone else in Night Vale. The radio, as usual, comes on by itself, the brief introduction, as usual, is ungraspable in its meaning, everything, actually, is as usual till the greeting after the theme song. 

— Bienvenida a Night Vale, queridos oyentes! — says Cecil in a voice distorted by poor broadcast quality and exaggerated accent.

“Is that Spanish?” mumbles Carlos addressing nobody in particular. He doesn’t know what to think about this sudden linguistic experiment, especially when Cecil continues in English, as if it was nothing. 

“At least it’s not Italian, — Carlos concludes to himself. — I hope”. 

As always he is engaged with laboratory tests, while still listening tentatively to the radio — both ‘cause there may be important news, scientifically interesting, and ‘cause he loves the sounding of Cecil’s voice, making it feel as if he was near.

After ordinary reports on community calendar and traffic, Cecil announces a thing that throws a light to his odd greeting: local college begins a new program open for everyone who wants to learn languages. 

— The program provides for any language you may think of, including classes for Ancient Greek, Morse code, Celtic runes and anything else which may be useful in your everyday life, — explains Cecil joyfully.

That clarifies a lot: Cecil loves to be in the center of event, so if he was investigating the issue by himself, he could take a lesson or two in that college. Carlos is always marveled by the way his boyfriend can be deeply interested in something new. That makes them alike.

 

As the day comes to a decline, Cecil finishes reports, and once again there is Spanish:

— Buenas noches, Night Vale, buenas noches, — like a crack in his speech. Not in a totally bad sense, but certainly like one that makes you stumble.

— You won’t do that again, will you? — asks Carlos when Cecil is back home.

— What? — Cecil throws his jacket off and in a moment he is near Carlos as close as possible, hugging him tight. — I missed.

— It’s been a day, — chuckles Carlos, although he has been horribly missing too. Since the very morning, probably.

— Seemed like forever. Time is weird here, you know. So what was it?

— “Buenas noches”, — finally answers Carlos, — it sounds wrong.

Cecil suddenly looks concerned, he leans back, chewing his lip and asking sulky:

— Did I make a mistake in pronunciation? Ngh, should have practiced more! 

— No, I don’t know, it’s just… Tradition is broken, — Carlos shrugs.

To be honest, he even likes unfamiliar words in familiar voice, but he already got used to the traditional good-nights. A day can’t simply be over without that, so he hopes Cecil will not try any “buenas noches” again, at least on the air.

— I see, — Cecil nods, with a face enlighten with enthusiasm again. — Anyway, it was not for the radio, it was for you.

Carlos hums something about “then it’s okay”, words lost, as he softly brushes his lips against Cecil’s cheekbone, and reverts to the kitchen where he left their dinner in the middle of being cooked. Cecil follows him without stopping to talk. Although his speech changes, it turns into barely distinguishable flow of words:

— Un solo idioma nunca es suficiente. Te echo de menos, Carlos, te amo, te quiero. — Carlos barely catches the moment when he switches back to English: — How was it, sweetheart?

— Oh, just… amazing? Truly. — Carlos smiles genuinely overwhelmed with a sudden affection toward his beloved, talented, unpredictable Cecil. And he finds that smile back on the face in front of him. — I haven’t understood a single word, but-

He can’t even finish, the emotions in Cecil’s eyes are too vivid. Sharp and then slowly fading away.

— I said it wrong again? — Cecil asks.

— No, no, I’m sure you didn’t. I simply don’t speak Spanish. Is that Spanish at all?

— How is that possible? — Cecil frowns the expression of astonishment on his face. — You came from Spain and do not know the language? You surely had to have a hard time back there.

— Wait, who said you that? I used to live in… — Carlos goes silent as he tries to recall the right name. But he can’t. The feeling of knowing something for sure but not being able to give it a form itches annoyingly: — ...not from Spain. Yes.

From this point, all previous life before moving to Night Vale looks like a blurred spot. Some insignificant spot, better not to be thought of spot. There was a place where Carlos used to live. In that place, maybe, he even used to know Spanish, taught to him at school or by his parents. But now he does not remember neither the name of the place, nor the faces of his parents, nor the language, so he just shakes his head.

— God… — Cecil whispers. — Don’t tell anyone, it is illegal.

— Why? — Carlos almost feels like laughing, though that face of Cecil, concerned to the maximum extent, stops him. 

— You cannot be called Carlos, if you are not from Spain. This is what the law prescribes. — Cecil glances to the window, as if there could be spies from some secret and dangerous agency — and well, they can be there. — Wow, honey, I didn’t imagine you are so-o-o badass. I’ll keep it secret!

— Sure. — At last Carlos can’t help laughing softly, but he decides not to argue this time.

— So it all was a waste of time. — Cecil bites his lip, gaze down on the floor and shoulders lowered. — I wanted to impress you.

He randomly touches things on the counter — cup, left there since the morning, paper napkin, salt-cellar, whatever he is able to reach, seemingly without even noticing it himself. Carlos catches his hand to stop this and to draw Cecil’s attention. He pulls his hand closer and kisses the tips of the fingers.

— You did impress me, honey. I love how it sounds. — And he is completely sincere. Then he adds quieter, hiding (not really well, though) a playful smirk: — You can use it where the meaning is not so much relevant, can’t you?

And Cecil gets the hint.

 

Hours later Carlos dissolves in the sound of the voice — most beautiful, beloved voice — speaking something he is unable to understand. And since there is no way for him to catch the meaning behind the words, there is no need to process information, he just completely gives in to the waves rolling under his skin. Cecil keeps talking, while tracing the lines of Carlos’ body with his hands, pressing him into the mattress. He interrupts only to place wet kisses on Carlos’ face and neck and chest, and then again — he talks and uncommon syllables, combinations of vowels and consonants never existing in English reveal new tints of his voice. He moves down — and the sound goes down to the hoarse whisper until it also silences completely ‘cause Cecil’s mouth is now too busy. But even then Carlos still can hear the whisper inside his head and is afraid to break it with his own moans or too loud gasps, although it becomes harder and harder to restrain.

 

Afterwards they lie together side by side, indulging those usual warm moments of cuddling, when body is still echoing with pleasure and feels tired as hell but it’s okay while there is no need to move. Haze in Carlos’ head gradually dissipates, and instead there is a sudden curiosity.

— Hey, babe, — he calls. Cecil replies with a lazy “hm?”. — I wonder what all those things mean. It sounded damn hot. Can you translate?

— Oh, yeah. — Cecil wavers for a while, his hand stroking Carlos’ back absent-mindedly. — I haven't had much time, so I learnt only some basics. Y’know, words like “fear”, “spiders”, “inexpressible feeling of void growing deep inside of the same nature as the void surrounding you from outside”, “salad”, and all like that, first things you get to know about the world, right?

— My god, — Carlos moans, hiding his face and a nervous giggle in the pillow.

He still thinks that it was incredibly great to add something new, like Spanish, between them. He loves experiments and unexpected ideas. He loves almost everything what Cecil offers him. But maybe he would better forget what he heard now and never ask for translation again. He is a scientist, but sometimes even he prefers not knowing.


End file.
